


Nothing is Inevitable

by cordkitty



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fate, Foreboding, Love, MY BABE, Memories, Solas - Freeform, They meet, a god among men, introducing: Lokil Lavellan, she's my baby, the beginnings, the egg, the lonely immortal, twice, which provides an opportunity to a writer, you know?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10444131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordkitty/pseuds/cordkitty
Summary: Solas fights the panic that threatens to overcome him as he realizes what he has wrought. But the sight of the unexpected stranger who now bears his mark reminds him of something that lived a thousand years ago. And at the same time, she makes him set out in a new, yet unknown direction.Lokil Lavellan wakes up out of unconsciousness to find herself surrounded by chaos. When she tries to settle into these unexpected circumstances, her determined efforts to put an end to what could easily turn into war are interrupted by an unsettling encounter. There is something about this man - something is beginning.





	1. Ghosts of Days Long Past and Days to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas fights the panic that threatens to overcome him as he realizes what he has wrought. But the sight of the unexpected stranger who now bears his mark reminds him of something that lived a thousand years ago. And at the same time, she makes him set out in a new, yet unknown direction.
> 
> Lokil Lavellan wakes up out of unconsciousness to find herself surrounded by chaos. When she tries to settle into these unexpected circumstances, her determined efforts to put an end to what could easily turn into war are interrupted by an unsettling encounter. There is something about this man - something is beginning.

 

 

 

 _The new hath come and now the old retires:_  
_And so the past becomes a mountain-cell_  
_Where lone, apart, old hermit memories dwell_  
_In consecrated calm, forgotten yet_  
_Of the keen heart that hastens to forget_  
_Old longings in fulfilling new desires._

  
_And now the soul stands in a vague, intense_  
_Expectancy and anguish of suspense,_  
_On the dim chamber-threshold...lo! he sees_  
_Like a strange, fated bride as yet unknown,_  
_His timid future shrinking there alone,_  
_Beneath her marriage-veil of mysteries._

 

> \- Sarojini Naidu

 

 

 

_**For Ket.** _

 

 

 

**Solas meets her**

He is taken down to Haven's chantry's cellars where they hold their prisoner. He has gotten past the few people willing and able to take charge in the chaos that has ensued in the wake of the explosion. _Hope_ shimmers on the edges of his tired, foggy mind like pale golden beams breaking through thick ashen clouds.

As they make their way down the steps, Solas tries to calm himself.

He has spent his life alone. He has ever since he has woken up and he would not have it any other way. He hardly remembers what it was like not to live in solitude. Since he has returned to this world and found that the world he knew before is no more, he has roamed Thedas by himself, looking for ways to go back. He felt shattered, ruined at first. It took him what felt like a long time to recollect himself, to focus on how to move forward so that he could eventually go back. Slowly, his confusion and panic cleared as he explored the structures of this new world that he had unintentionally shaped.

They are gone. He tried looking for them in the cities, forests and graveyards of this strange new world. All he was able to find were those who call themselves Dalish; at first, he'd hoped that they could offer him explanations and a foundation on which to rebuild. But, even though the Dalish think of themselves as remnants of his once-great people, he found he couldn't see them as his kin, even as they shared his yearning for a past that is long gone. Unlike him, however, the Dalish do not have the will to work to restore that past. They seem to wallow in the feeling of being outcast and misunderstood, even as they misunderstand themselves. They turned him away when he offered to share his knowledge, and so he gave up on them.

He was forced to find other ways to restore what was destroyed.

But he has miscalculated yet again.

At first, he felt as if the already shaky ground had been pulled from under his feet. How could this be? What did he overlook? But then, he managed to pull himself together enough to realize that it couldn't be undone now and that a way to pick up the pieces needed to be found.

He had stayed close to the Conclave, waiting for his chance to recover the Orb once it would have been unlocked. And so, luckily, an opportunity presented itself to immediately get himself involved in the humans' affairs when it all went wrong.

There might still be a chance that he may correct _this second mistake_.

He does not yet fully understand what has happened, or how the Creature could have survived the explosion. But the humans were panicked enough to accept his offer of help. They didn't ask too many questions and certainly none that would have been difficult for him to evade by way of half truths presented in an assuring and collected manner.

There is some risk to his plan even now, but what else can he do? The Orb is the only thing left to him that holds some of what has been lost. He has to find a way of getting himself involved in any effort to keep the chaos at bay. This way, there may be a chance to get close enough - _and get it back_.

Solas evades the questions of the two women that are following down the steps, as he tries to focus on the task ahead. As they stop in front of the door to the prison room, he holds out his arm in front of them, blocking their way. "It would be better if I could take a look alone. If this _is_ to do with magic, it is most likely very dangerous, and I need to focus." The two women exchange a look, suspicion and silent questions in their eyes, but then one of them nods and they leave.

He was told that the person who had caused the explosion had been caught. They didn't know who she is or why she would do this, but they felt sure that it was her because of the strange glowing mark on her hand. _Magic! Of course it was her! Trying to turn the events of the Conclave so that she and her kind would profit._

They know nothing. He feels a surge of panic. A glowing mark on her hand? Corypheus must be long gone. But he has managed to get himself access and so gains an opportunity to find out what has happened to the Orb. Corypheus can't have succeeded, not entirely. Had the Fade been breached with the magic from the Orb, he would know.

He turns towards the door, his hand reaching for the doorknob - but he cannot move. The air feels suddenly thick and his vision blurs for a second. A chill trickles down his spine, and it has nothing to do with the thousand questions about his Orb that are making his head spin. Panic threatens to creep in on him, as he stands there trying to find strength in his resolution and his determination. He shakes himself mentally, and the unsettling sensation begins to subside. 

He will first have to find out what has happened to the Orb and then figure out a way to repair the damage. It is a daunting task, he has too little information. But that is why he wanted to see this prisoner, to find out more and then realign his efforts. This is not the moment to lose sight of what he must do.

He takes a deep breath and turns the doorknob with trembling hands.

She is lying on the dark stone floor in the middle of a rectangular room that is lined with prison cells and cast into dim light by a few torches on the walls. She is on her back, her face turned away from the door, unconscious. His focus is immediately on her, and after pausing for a moment to take in the scene in front of him, he closes the door behind him and slowly approaches.

As he moves he dimly registers, in some corner of his mind, that something seems to try and take charge of him, his usually keenly alert senses dimming somewhat, his sharp focus being pulled from his control, drawing him closer, pulling him in. With every careful step he takes, he can make out more of the lifeless figure on the floor. She is an elf, young and slender, her body stretched out in front of him, one arm above her head, the other across her chest. Long blonde hair is splayed out against the dark stone floor like strands of silvery sunlight against steel gray skies; her eyes are closed. Without warning, the curious sensation that washed over him when he was standing outside the door to this dank and musty room crashes over him once more. He kneels down beside her, trying to ignore the unfamiliar rhythms of pounding pain in his head and, without meaning to, stretches out one hand to turn her head towards him. The sudden closeness to this stranger feels oddly natural.

When he can see her face, his heart misses a beat - the Orb, the explosion, the chaos retreat from the forefront of his mind. He feels struck at the sight of her.

She seems so _familiar_ \- familiar and strange at the same time. As his eyes search her face, he finds himself sinking down softly, like sinking into a warm bath. Then, he begins to fall - faster and faster - until he's spiralling and his head spinning, as he struggles to understand what has struck him.

His body stills, as his mind is silently, inexplicably, raging; a noiseless blast seems to extinguish the reality of all that has happened and the questions that have been swirling around in his head. His hand is still on her cheek, as he tries to sort through his own mind. Her breathing is calm and steady, but every few moments, her eyelids twitch slightly, as if she was about to wake up.

He slowly lets his thumb stroke once across her high cheekbone and at that, her eyes open slowly, her gaze wandering up to meet his. Sleep's drowsy confusion clears quickly from her large, dark eyes, and she regards him calmly as he stares back. There are no questions on her face, no confusion. She makes no attempt at speech, and her expression is silent and open like the pages of a book telling wordless stories of a whole world; and faded memories of ancient spirits that did the same a long time ago begin to stir inside him. There is no distance between the two of them in this moment, as something about her reminds him of another life, resonating with something deep within. A familiar feeling of deep-rooted sorrow begins to creep up in his mind, seeping through his veins. It has been trying to claw its way to the surface ever since he woke up from a sleep that had lasted countless ages. It is the realization of what he has wrought, and he fought to suppress it and not let it overwhelm in order to find his way back. Something about her reminds him of this pain, although why, he cannot say.

An inexplicable sadness adds itself to his bewilderment; she looks into his eyes with such calm familiarity, as if she had fully expected to see him upon waking up. She slowly lifts the arm that was stretched out above her head to his face and gently touches his cheek with the tips of her fingers, as if making sure he is really there. Her gaze searches his face quietly, and after a few moments her eyes slowly flutter closed again, and her arm sinks down next to her body as sleep draws her back into its realms. She is drifting down again.

Solas tries to stem the floodwaters in his mind, as he remembers the events that have brought him here. With some effort, he pulls away his hand from her face and instead takes her marked hand between both of his, examining the green glow emanating from her palm.

In the middle of all this chaos, this woman's gaze has made him stand still for a moment and somehow reminded him of a part of himself that he has long thought forgotten, but which mingles curiously with what he feels is the very essence of himself.

He thinks back to only moments before, when he was standing in front of the door to this dark, silent room and was suddenly been unable to turn a doorknob.

It wasn't the fear in the air around him or within himself that made him freeze. It was her.

 

 

 

 

**She meets Solas**

 

Everything is chaos. Panicked screams and the desperate prayers of those that can't find anything else to hold on to. Flashes of poisonous green in the sky and blinding white snow below. The woman she doesn't know breathing heavily behind her, and she isn't even sure if that woman is ally or foe, protector or jailor.

She woke up a day earlier, not knowing where she is or how she got there. She remembers approaching the building on a snowy hill which was supposed to house a historical peace conclave. But only shreds are left of what happened after the conclave started, how the two warring factions insisted on arguing their own sides of the conflict, and that she was told by her Keeper that it would be like this for the first few days or even weeks.

The faded memory of magic spilling through the air and a dark, looming figure that she can't place, and then - nothing; until she woke up in chains, kneeling on a cold stone floor in a dark dungeon room, surrounded by empty prison cells. She had barely returned to consciousness, when a sharp pain in her left hand jolted her awake into painful, agonizing reality.

The two women that questioned her for hours ignored her questions, and instead unwillingly filled in some gaps in her faded memory by hurling incomprehensible accusations at her tired, pounding head. She slowly, painstakingly understood that she had been captured, and that they thought her guilty of some crime. But it turned out, she was wrong in believing that they had caught her out as the spy she was.

Instead of explaining, the tall, stern looking warrior took her outside of the chantry building in whose prison rooms she was being held, and pointed at the source of all this confusion.

It is this tear in the sky that she is supposed to close, somehow. At the humans' flailing attempts at explaining what was happening, she saw that she had looked for answers where there were none to be found. No one knows what has caused the chaos that is erupting around them now. And once she understood that, she felt less at a disadvantage. They accepted her offer to do the best she could at getting to the bottom of what has caused the explosion at the Conclave that killed hundreds.

Now, they are trying to find whatever magic caused the skies to tear open and let the Fade leak through.

It is the strange green-glowing mark on the elf's hand that is somehow supposed to put an end to the chaos they have found themselves in the middle of. How the humans know this, Lokil doesn't ask. All that matters for the moment is pushing back the immediate danger and gaining some time to try and make sense of this. There will be time enough for explanations later, if they can be found. As they make their way up the mountain, to what appear to be the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she manages to gain enough information to form a plan for now.

They are climbing a set of stone steps that has been set into a snowy incline between a frozen lake and a small group of destroyed stone buildings up ahead, as Lokil comes to a sudden halt. A strange feeling comes over her, a cold pressure building in her stomach, and an unsettling deafness falling on her ears, as the sounds of rushing wind and distant screams fall away.

Cassandra almost runs into her. The odd sensation fades as quickly as it has come.

"What's wrong? What's going on?"

It takes Lokil a moment before she finds her way back to reality.

"I- I don't know." She looks up at the Seeker who is regarding her with a mix of suspicion and concern. "I feel strange. I couldn't see anything. I couldn't hear - " Cassandra's dark eyes narrow, as she tries to make sense of Lokil's words. The elf's eyes clear of her distraction then, and her gaze is intense. "Something's coming. I think - someone -?" She shakes her head, trying to clear it, and looks up at the sky that is in turmoil, as her eyes narrow in her attempt to redirect her focus at the immediate threat. "Never mind. Let's get to that - rift."

The Seeker squints at her, suspicion in her eyes, but the urgency of the problem at hand seems to come back to her, and they move further up the steps.

"They must be up there. You can hear the fighting", she goes on, a trace of uncertainty still left in her hard, edgy voice.

"Who's fighting?"

"You'll see soon enough. We must help them."

They turn a corner at the top of the steps, and find a battle raging in front of their eyes. Two men, a dwarf and an elf, threatened to be overwhelmed by demons that must have slipped through by way of a glowing green, crystal-like shape in the air above them.

Lokil doesn't hesitate. She jumps the low remains of a stone wall in front of her and starts hurling spells at the otherworldly creatures, which she has only ever encountered in dreams before. She pushes back the feeling of foreshadowing her small episode has left her with, like blowing away a dark threatening cloud looming above her head, and focuses on evading razor sharp claws and figures clothed in dark swirling smoke. It doesn't take them long. The last creature sinks to the ground with a hair raising screech, and then there is silence, apart from the crackling sounds that seem to come from the crystalline shape above.

Before she can take a moment to breathe, calloused fingers wrap roughly around her wrist, and an unfamiliar voice shouts. "Quickly - before more come through!"

She feels her hand pulled up in front of her face and she can just about make out the tall dark figure of the man beside her. Then she is blinded by bright green and white light, and suddenly her hand feels as if it was on fire. It seems that some force is trying to pull the flesh from her fingers and her palm, and she opens her mouth, about to scream in pain. But before she can make a sound, there is a noise like an electric current building and, with a small bang, the shape in front of her eyes vanishes into thin air.

The force of the blast makes them topple backwards a few steps, and he lets go of her hand. She straightens herself and looks around.

It is over.

It takes them a few moments to realize that they are out of immediate danger, as they try to recollect themselves. She sees Cassandra rushing towards her, harsh questions on her lips, but she turns away instead to face the elf.

"What did you do?"

She has barely finished speaking however, when it happens again. The cold mountain air turns unnaturally hot and stifling, pressing down on her. At the same time, goose-bumps erupt on her skin, making the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She struggles for a moment, trying to calm herself and focus. She notices, out of the corner of her eye, that Cassandra is watching her suspiciously again. Lokil doubts that the Seeker would still trust her to put an end to this chaos, if she suspected her prisoner might not be in her right mind.

And so, she fights to regain her composure, and listens to the discussion on how to move forward that erupts between her new companions.

Even though her mind is raging, it doesn't escape her notice that, although Cassandra tries to take charge of the situation, it is the elf who directs their focus back to the problem at hand. He somehow manages to get in control - unseen, and yet in plain sight - with quiet but insightful half-remarks on the goings on that tell Lokil that he knows more than he lets on. The others don't seem to notice this however, and he certainly _tries_ to present himself as inconspicuous and unimportant.

When he mentions the mark on her hand, her eyes flash brightly. She raises her hand, inspecting the now dim green shine emanating from her palm.

How did he know? He immediately grabbed her hand and directed it at the rift, without hesitating, as if he had been planning to do this all along. _He theorized_ , he says. Not even _she_ would have guessed so quickly at a connection between the magical mark on her palm and the strange shape crackling with unknown magic, let alone act on it; and it is _her_ hand that is still stinging at the memory of scorching pain.

But he tells her that he examined the mark when she was unconscious, and that he looked for a way to close the Breach in the sky; he speaks with the calm conviction of a scholar, level-headed and smooth. She feels strangely embarrassed and a little exposed at the thought that he examined her when she was lying unconscious - studying her. This mark on her hand.

There is something about him.  

But she gets distracted by the argument that flares up between the other two. With an effort, Lokil turns away from him. Thankfully, their discussion is cut short however, as they remember their more immediate troubles.

The elf has been looking at her intently all this time while she was watching the others, a curiously calm half-smile on his lips. Maybe it is the uncertainty of what has happened and what is going to happen, that makes her more suspicious of a stranger than she would normally have been. She makes to turn to the small group of new found allies and suggest they move on, when the elf's smooth voice interrupts her intentions.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live."

At the mention of his name, it happens again. Some unseen force seems to hit her stomach and make her vision blur, momentary deafness crashing over her in a quick but intense wave. A sense of foreboding still clings to the air around her, as the curious sensation passes, and it has nothing to do with the Breach or demons. It is this man.

When she doesn't answer, he pulls up an eyebrow and smiles a quietly wicked half-smile at her again, that doesn't really seem to fit the situation. He starts to move past her, keeping his eyes fixed on her suspicious face, as she tries to understand what it is about him, that makes her feel as if something even bigger than the start of a war has just begun.


	2. One Step Back, Two Steps Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memories of their first meeting(s) have not faded completely yet, but Solas and Lokil aren't afraid to explore what it is that attracts them to each other. Well, she's not afraid. He is surprised to meet a Dalish, of all things, with such an open mind and such an interest in his opinions. Solas is intrigued, but has more reason to be careful about letting her see too much. She isn't, after all, why he is here with the Inquisition. Yet.

 

 

 _One step forward, two steps back_  
_Always moving to stand still_  
_Mind is running freely_  
_While I fight against my will_  
_My conscience begs to differ_  
_Does it matter what I think?_  
_Heart's wanting to be captured_  
_Is true love waiting on the brink?_  
_Will I ever figure out_  
_The things I truly need?_  
_Do I throw my caution to the wind_  
_In order to succeed?_

 

 _-_ Mandy Berry

 

 

 

** She is curious **

 

 

"I didn't know that there even _were_ elves that consider themselves neither Dalish nor city elf. Where were you born?" There is a fiercely curious undertone in her deep voice that borders on suspicion.

Lokil still has not forgotten the memory of their first meeting. She tried putting the curious moments of foreboding that still linger around the edges of that memory from her mind and attributing them to her state of confusion and the uncertainty about the events that had followed her capture. Since then, she has had to battle the sheer waves of questions and the fear that came with this unexpected situation.

The mark on her hand allows her to close the rifts, and maybe eventually even the Breach itself. And it is for this reason that the humans put her at the centre of the organization they are trying to rebuild. She has only ever read about that organization in the few old history tomes she managed to get her hands on in her life with her clan: The Inquisition.

Despite these dramatic changes in her life, and despite the energy it costs to settle in these new circumstances, the threat of war always looming on the edge of her perception, she cannot help but notice _him_. There is something oddly familiar about Solas, or maybe that impression is just her unconscious attempt at holding on to some illusion of comfort and safety, even if there is none.

But regardless, she has attempted to learn as much about him as he would let her. She wants to understand what it is about him that struck her so when they first met. She remembers the suspicion that clouded her usually keen discernment back then, and she questions it now that has learned a bit about him.

He hardly ever gives any information freely however, and the little she knows she has had to deduct from the way he acts around the other members of the Inquisition and the way he speaks, rather than the things he speaks about.

He smiles. "I suppose there are in fact very few people in the world who are comfortable with not counting themselves part of any specific group that they might call _home_."

More evasive tactics; but she will not be thrown off so easily.

They have fallen behind the others as they climb the soft green hills in the Hinterlands, trying to make their way to one of several camps that have been established in this area by the Inquisition. They are here to find resources, information, and allies, anything that might help with the daunting task ahead.

When he doesn't answer her question, Lokil presses on.

"But how were you raised? I thought the humans didn't allow elves in their cities, except for the servants they keep, and in the alienages. And where did you learn all this? You also weren't raised in one of the Mage Circles."

He lets out a silent snort and regards her with one of his half-smiles out of the corner of his eye. "The humans' Circles are no place to look for knowledge, in any case. They teach only snippets of the truth, twisted and mangled so they need never question their established laws. They fear everything that could challenge them to think for themselves, and they are taught to fear themselves." She looks at him, still waiting for an answer to her question, and he seems to accept that he won't shake her off so easily. He smiles again.

"I was born in a village north of here", he answers, his gaze fixed ahead on something she can't see. "It was a peaceful little hamlet and I did not stay there long. I have spent my years travelling."

"Ah." There is a pause. "All the more remarkable then how you seem to know so much. You had no instructors? No one to teach you? What about your family?"

"I met many on my travels who were willing enough to pass on what they knew of this world and the Fade."

She gives an exasperated huff. There must be _something_ , one question she can ask that he cannot avoid answering; at some point, he will have to acknowledge that she sees through his attempts at keeping himself hidden. Although why there would be anything to hide on this particular subject eludes her entirely. It seems such a common thing to ask someone she has not known for very long but next to whom she will be working for the foreseeable future.

To her, the curiosity about her new surroundings and the kinship she feels for her new companions seem so natural that it makes her even more suspicious now that he seems so unwilling to answer such a simple question.

And so, she picks a subject his opinions on which she already knows from their discussion the previous night; she hopes that he, too, remembers the heated argument and that he knows how aware she is of his views on the Dalish. He cannot _possibly_ \-  

"Have you never tried making contact with the Dalish? See if you could belong?"

"I have. They would not accept me. I tried to share some of what I had learned in my exploration of the Fade, only to be turned away. They did not want to hear how much they have forgotten."

"And you know more than them?"

Maybe a topic he seems to dismiss as a general rule, and which she knows infuriates him in his disdain for her people, will coax him into talking of how _he_ sees things.

"I have learned more in wandering the Fade than they could ever hope to know. I have witnessed with my own eyes what they don't even know existed. They seem to have grown accustomed to not knowing their own culture; they even seem to relish in their melancholy, defining themselves by how they have lost a culture of which they have no concept. " He pauses. "Are you not occupied enough with the current goings-on that you still want to know more?"

She has him there.

Lokil arches one eyebrow and gives him a clever smile, gleeful at her small victory, and he gives in.

He tells her what he knows about their people. He tells her about beings to whom magic was intrinsic, who seemed to live and breathe it, who built crystal spires in an empire that stretched far across the known world. He speaks of their customs and the way they understood themselves, of all their knowledge and the beauty that was lost when the Empire of Elvhenan fell so long ago. In repeating all the marvels he has seen, he also tells about himself - the beauty he seeks, his insatiable hunger for knowledge, his unconventional views on matters concerning the Fade and the spirits that dwell there.

He talks about worlds that can be shaped by intention alone, in which you can only see the things that you yourself can comprehend and which hold a mirror to your eyes, more truthful and unforgiving than anything this world knows. He speaks of some of his encounters with creatures from that other world, the ancient memories that he has found and how the remains of someone else's life can show him glimpses of times that are long-gone and teach him the perspectives of those that were there to witness things she has only ever heard spoken of in tales.

He seems fascinated by how the Fade's reflections of this world make no claim to universal truth.

She has never met anyone quite like him, and Lokil feels that she could listen to him for hours, his deep and calm voice suddenly intense when he speaks of how he understands the world; she feels enraptured. He usually seems distant and even a little aloof, always guarded against too-specific and too-personal questions; why, she does not know. It only incites more questions that need answering.

There is a curious sadness in his eyes and in the way he obviously holds back much of himself; it makes her want to open her heart wide, to show him that there is a place where he can be safe. But as he goes on explaining how he has spent his life, some of that guard falls from him as his voice burns with fierce enthusiasm and a seemingly unshaken belief in the truths he believes to have found. He seems far away, his mind completely on the things he has seen and the way they shape his world.

She lets him talk. She tries to open up her mind to absorb all that can be learned from him, and about him.

When they reach the next Inquisition camp, he has to interrupt his tales when they are recalled to all the work that still needs to be done. But she finds herself wishing that there was much, much more time to listen to him recounting how he has spent his life.

Somewhat reluctantly, she accepts that she can hardly spend all of her time with her focus entirely on him alone, as she tends to her task of planning their travels of the next few days, grumbling to herself a little. She almost hopes that, once night will have arrived and the bustle of the soldiers, scouts and helpers that are travelling with them will quiet down, there might be another chance to talk to him; but he is nowhere to be seen. She chides herself for the impulse to visit him in his tent; surely he needs some time for rest.

But she smiles to herself, despite her impatience, as she remembers that it is in his dreams that he discovers all the things that she is burning to know more about.

And as she lies awake for hours yet, fiddling absent-mindedly with one corner of her fur covers, she finds that her wish to know more about her new companions isn't even close to satisfied. She has spent some time chatting with the others during meals, in camp, and on their travels. She has found many worthy ideas and thoughts in every single one of them. There is much more she wants to learn about them, but she is happy, for now, to know that she can trust them and that they share her goals. She knows there will be many opportunities in the weeks and months to come to satisfy her curiosity.

But Solas has left her restless.

It seems, the more she asks, the more she wants to know, and that despite his distant manner she has managed to make him take her by the hand and, with one of his quiet half smiles, lead her down a path she had never known.

 

 

 

**He is cautious**

 

 

At least they have a plan. It will take some time - time he isn't sure they have - but it will have to do for now.

Lokil has had to settle into the unexpected new circumstances she found herself in a few weeks back. Her original intention of finding out how the ongoing war between the Mages and Templars would affect the Dalish has turned against her in a way no one could have seen coming, least of all he. But instead of remaining apart from it all, she has been sucked right into the middle of it.

And Solas has noticed how committed to her tasks she is.

He finds her late one evening, huddled in a chair in the small and unremarkable library that is housed in Haven's Chantry. He would have thought that she might want to make use of a chance to get some rest after the events of the last few weeks. But no.

When he asks why she is up so late, she tells him that she couldn't sleep.

She is not the only one.

"I don't understand it, Solas. I tried to look for answers, I really did." She raises her hand to her face and squints at the now dim light emanating from her palm. "I tested its magic myself, I looked in books, I've looked everywhere... and I've come up with nothing."  She sounds despondent as she lets her hand fall and slump down on the armrest of her chair. "I'm giving up."

"Judging by that rather intimidating pile of books, it appears you still have _quite a bit_ of research left to do, da'len; although I am still not sure what this is about exactly." She half turns around in her chair, scowling at him for teasing her. "I am sorry", he says, biting his lip to hide his smirk, "What is it that you want to know? Maybe I can help."

And at his offer to help, questions - always more questions - begin to spill from her.

"It's the _mark_." She sounds exasperated. "What is it? Where did it come from?" She turns around again and looks up at him, her eyes large and her brow furrowed as she struggles to understand. "You said it was part of the artefact that caused the explosion? But what can that _be_? Why the connection to the Fade? I don't understand any of it", she finishes, her disappointment clear in her voice.

Solas doesn't answer her immediately. He hoped against hope that she would be satisfied with the few snippets of information she was given on the matter. He is not prepared to answer her in a way that could both quell those questions and not reveal too much about the extent of his own involvement in the process. But she is so impatient, so desperate for answers, she doesn't give him time to focus on formulating a strategy anyway.

"Never mind. This is pointless. Why I ever thought I could find answers in a chantry library is beyond me. The only books even worth opening are the ones by Genitivi, and he doesn't offer much on the subject either. Most of it seems like conjecture." There is an irritated undertone in her voice, and it makes his unwilling admiration for her grow a little more.

"I don't claim to have all the answers, but-"

Against his better judgement, he leans over the back of her chair to look at the book that is lying open against her knees. But she slams it shut and drops it unceremoniously onto the larger of two piles on the floor next to her; when she looks up again, he suddenly finds her face too close to his where he is leaning over her shoulder. She stills for a moment, and something in her expression changes from frustration at not finding the answers she needs to something softer; she tilts her head to one side, questions of a different kind now glinting in her eyes.

Solas has been trying hard to push aside the memory of another curiously familiar moment between him and this woman he unintentionally marked with his magic, for it threatens to distract him from the only thing that matters to him anymore. The Orb. Getting it back, restoring it and using its power to continue with his task of restoring what he destroyed.

And yet, much as he tries to keep his distance, she has sparked his curiosity; just as he, unfortunately, seems to have sparked hers.

She has had to adjust to the unfamiliar magic mark in her hand, in more ways than one. She seems ready to accept that, for some reason, which to her is probably coincidence, the task of closing the Breach has fallen on her; and with that, the daunting task of gaining allies who can help the Inquisition and the looming prospect of conflict pouring in from all sides.

But that isn't the entirety of it.

It seems that simply preparing for what comes next is not enough for her. She struggles to understand, not merely why that responsibility was given to her, but where it came from - the Anchor itself. It also causes her physical pain. Whenever the Breach expands, its ancient magic blazes angrily beneath the still-healing wound on her palm, reacting to the tear in the sky, its counterpart.

Before Solas can react to this unexpected closeness, their too intimate moment is interrupted by a crackling noise, as the Anchor's magic flares up once more. She gives a small gasp of pain which she immediately tries to stifle; but the moment is over as soon as it came. He thought he saw a flash of green light flicker around the edges of her dark eyes when it happened; but it passed too quickly for him to be sure it wasn't simply the light from the Anchor that was reflected in them.

"Damn it!" Her frustration is taking over the moment again, as she curls her marked hand into a fist and slams it on the chair's armrest. She jumps up and begins to pace nervously back and forth across the small, stuffed room.

Her agitation does nothing to alleviate his own nervous feelings from moments before, and he walks around the chair she was sitting in, coming to a halt right in front of her. He can see her trepidation and unrest in the way she anxiously looks up at him. There is something almost helpless in her gaze, and it makes him want to offer her protection, safe shelter from her troubles.

But then he remembers that it was he himself that caused her troubles in the first place - if unintentionally - and he makes his arms stiff at his sides, to keep himself from reaching for her and wrapping them around her shoulders. He tries to put something calm and comforting in his voice and in the way he looks down at her instead; and she seems to accept it, as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I know you want answers. I understand why you are afraid. But try and calm down." He gestures to the chair. "Sit."

But then she brings her hand to rest on his chest for a brief moment, and Solas fears that she might be able to tell that this facade of calm is only that - a facade - by how his heart is suddenly hammering traitorously against his ribs. She moves past him and sits back down in her chair, apparently unaware of what even this small touch does to him.

He suddenly feels close to being caught out for something that he himself was only half aware of until tonight. Not wanting to give her the impression that he isn't focused on her obvious troubles however, he turns quickly and draws up a chair opposite her. He is acutely aware of the unpleasant scraping noise as he drags it across the stone floor, and of how, when he sits down, the leather creaks too loudly. Unsure why this strikes him so at this particular moment, he presses his eyes closed for a moment and mentally shakes himself, before speaking again.

"I understand why this upsets you. But try to be patient. There will be time enough in the coming months to get to the bottom of how and why this happened."

He can tell that she is trying to accept his words of comfort; but when she speaks, it is still with some agitation.

"Do you know _anything_ else about this? Anything that could at least explain what kind of magic this is? What effects will it have one me?"

He tries not to let his amazement at how she manages to get to the core of the matter with just two simple questions show too clearly on his face. It will be much more difficult than he thought to evade her keen questions than he anticipated.

He smiles.

"Like I said, I do not claim any particular knowledge on the matter. One thing I am almost convinced of however, is that the artefact that was used to create the Breach is of elvhen origins."

She had curled up in her chair, her temple resting against her knees and a defeated look on her face. But at his words she stiffens and sits up straight.

" _Elvhen_ origins?"

"I cannot be _sure_ , of course. But I believe it is one of several foci that are rumoured to have belonged to each member of our pantheon."

"I have never heard of anything like that."

He smiles. "You were right. It _is_ mostly conjecture and myth. I have seen magic like that in my exploration of the Fade -"

"Of course." She has difficulty in trying to refrain from rolling her eyes. But she smiles, and he goes on.

An uproar of indignation had risen at the fact that an _elf_ , of all things, had been put at the centre of an upstart organization claiming to have the solutions to all the troubles that have befallen the people of Thedas in the aftermath of the catastrophe of the Conclave.

It was indignation on some lips and infuriating arrogance on others.

_Who are they to believe that they have the right to use the vacancy of power where the Divine should now stand, triumphant in her efforts to bring order back to our lives? Upstarts, rebels, seeking opportunity, no more. And of course, magic at the heart of it. Very dangerous ideas, but most likely ideas that can be snuffed out easily by the right people._

They all struggle with that side of things, as they try to focus on what matters and what they believe to be the right thing to do.

To him, all of this is necessary if he wants to make up for the setback he has suffered. She has what he needs, so he _has_ to stay close, trying to manoeuvre, without them noticing, with the right advice offered at the right moments.

He cannot risk them guessing at the magnitude of _his_ task to get back what he has so recklessly given away. It was easy enough. They seemed suspicious at first, but a few well placed half-explanations of his _assumptions_ about recent events and the magic behind them were enough to quell the questions and suspicions on their short-sighted minds.

She is different, however. She had the same questions for him as everyone else but, unlike the other members of the Inquisition, she isn't so easy to shake. And after a few weeks, he found, to his surprise, that he didn't _want_ to shake her anymore.

When he was forced before to put obstacles in the way of her questions about the events of the Conclave and what had caused all of this, she instead turned her inquisitive mind to questions meant to find out more about him. He found, to his surprise, that his immediate reaction of distracting her away from that particular topic was not due so much to his intention of keeping his plans and the surrounding circumstances hidden from her, rather than to having grown so unaccustomed to anyone showing any kind of interest in his _person_.

He is so used to making himself seem unimportant, to remaining unseen, that he did not see her interest in him coming. No one ever bothered taking notice of one more elf; especially not an elf who could be considered a hermit. He has somewhat adapted to that view of himself, withdrawing more and more into himself, living almost entirely for those hours he can spend dreaming, exploring, and at peace. After the fall, his own life, and everything in it, seemed so utterly unimportant compared to his own wishes; and yet, there she was.

He had to marvel before at how comfortable he would be in indulging her curiosity about his person. He became aware that he had begun to enjoy the way she seeks him out each day to continue discussions that lasted long into the night before; and he began, unwise though it may be, to return the favour by putting some of his own questions to her, curiously flattered by her interest, and all too eager, despite himself, to indulge her curiosity.

Which is why he is now struggling to explain as much as he can to calm her - without really telling her anything.

She doesn't make it easy however; the openness of her mind to new ideas has given her an understanding beyond her years, the ability to see beyond constructed facades and the will to break them down and discover more, not merely content with learning but needing to understand. Much as he admires these efforts, to him they could become troublesome.

But it is more than that.

To her, this subject he has been so carefully trying to avoid has become deeply personal, as it affects her immediate future, as well as her mind and her body with the pain the Anchor's magic causes her every time it reacts to its counterpart in the sky.

But tonight is different. Seeing for himself the anguish the burden she was given causes her because _his_ magic marked her makes it impossible for him to try and simply distract her. He cannot tell her much, it is true; but is it not also true that she deserves more than the little he has so far been willing to tell her? She is affected by this much more than anyone else, after all.

"I believe the elves of ancient times had a much stronger connection to the Fade, and an entirely different view of magic altogether, than people in this age do. Whatever this artefact's original purpose was exactly, maybe that explains the Anchor's connection to the Fade, and its ability to close the rifts."

"Anuriel taught me everything she knew about the history of Dalish magic. I wasn't aware of how enormous the difference between us and the elves of ancient times is, even after everything you've already told me."

He smiles tiredly. "I believe it is", he says dryly.

Her eyes glint and she gives a roguish smile in return at how his voice is dripping with cynicism. "Go on then. Tell me more."

During their many conversations in the past few weeks, she told him that she had been training as her clan's Keeper's first apprentice, and he has no trouble in believing that even this high ranking responsibility within her culture would not have been enough for her. During one particular argument about the Dalish, in which he had not attempted to hide his disdain and his disapproval of the way they live, he found, to his surprise, that instead of relying on pointed remarks of how he didn't understand, which would have easily ended the discussion then and there, she replied with a graceful apology and an elegant remark on his own ideas on the matter. He gave her his reasons for his disdain without going into much detail; and again, she replied in a way that showed the rare ability to look beyond established ideas, even as they concerned her home and the way she had been raised.

She is used to Dalish culture, but she is clever enough to know that there might be more to learn about anything, no matter your personal relationship towards a given subject.

She told him that she had felt at home with her clan, roaming the forests of the Free Marches. She told him she had lost her family early as she had been sent away from the clan she had been born into - all for the crime of having magic. The Dalish limit what they believe to be the _risk_ that magic can pose by never raising too many children that carry the arcane in their blood. But she was one of the lucky ones. Her clan's Keeper had seen her potential early on and had given her every opportunity to rise to it. But even so, she explained of how she had always felt that there was something else inside her, a question, the answer to which could not be found within the way of life that she had been born into.

She cannot place that feeling that something more is waiting for her, that she hasn't reached her destination yet. The place that had raised her with loving care still had not felt like enough. What to her is a reason for distressing feelings of guilt, and accusations of egotism against herself, imparts in him a sense of familiarity that he did not expect to find in one of her kind. Unlike the other elves he has encountered, she shows an inborn sense for truth, no matter the prize for achieving that truth.

It had not been his intention to learn so much about the people he was forced to ally with. But as he found himself drawn to her for her way of thinking and of seeing the world, he started to notice other things about her as well.

The night grows deep and they are still sitting in the library, talking. She listens attentively to his accounts of the world the ancient elves built, the magic they knew and the wisdom and the knowledge they held.

But Solas finds it harder and harder to concentrate. She has left her chair and curled up on some thick furs on the floor at his feet. When she began to grow tired, she brought her crossed arms to rest on his knees, her chin propped up to look at him. Every time some detail of his accounts sparks her curiosity, she interrupts him with questions and her eyes sparkle in the soft glow of the burnt down candles. She smiles whenever he mentions the libraries the old elves built, the forests they roamed, and the lush green and deep indigo their world was painted in. He cannot help but notice how her hair is coming undone slowly from the messy bun in which she keeps it. And as the hours pass and she grows more tired, there is something sweetly lascivious about the way she looks up at him, as her eyelids seem to grow heavy.

When it is well past midnight, she can't suppress a shuddering yawn, much as she tries to stifle it behind her hand, and Solas interrupts himself.

"Maybe we should get you to bed", he remarks with a smile at her unbroken enthusiasm for listening to his tales. She seems completely at ease now, the memory of why she came to the library to begin with apparently forgotten for now.

But when the grin she gives in response lingers around her lips for just a moment too long, he realizes his small blunder. Before he can correct himself, she gets up stiffly and relieves him of the slight embarrassment of having to explain himself. "Maybe you are right", she says with another yawn.

She bends down, collects some of the books she was reading in her arms and turns away from him to replace the tomes on their shelves.

Solas gets to his feet as well, walking slowly behind her, unconsciously following her movement; he had been about to ask if she was feeling any better, when she turns unexpectedly.

The words on his lips falter then and he can feel his breath hitch at how close her face is to his again. He can feel the warmth of her skin against his face, notices the smell of her hair and how, if he moved only a fraction of an inch, they'd -

He finds himself unable to pull away once more, as madness wants to take over and make him lean in just a little more. Her tan skin looks soft as it shimmers like silk in the flickering candlelight. She is looking up at him from beneath her long black lashes, out of dark, unreadable eyes, holding his gaze. A softly daring grin spreads quietly across her face.

"Can't keep away, can you?" She is smirking now.

He feels warmth rising in his cheeks and to the tips of his ears, and he hopes that she does not notice in the dim half-light. With some effort, he takes a step back to allow her to pass him. She smiles gently at the floor as she walks out of the room, a flush of her own creeping up her cheeks, and for once apparently too caught up in her own thoughts to really notice the tension she is leaving him with.

He will have to be careful not to get too caught up in his own thoughts in the future, as well.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Keturagh, who helped huge amounts by editing this messy thing and evening out the wobbly parts. (I HATE TENSES) ^.^ Writer love!
> 
> This is going to be about their entire relationship, from beginning to (maddening) end. It's not focused on action but rather aims at understanding what is happening between Solas and Lavellan and how their relationship develops. I want to explore, among other things, the concept of free will in some respects of their lives and/or inevitability and foreshadowing in others, within the context of the relationship of these two fairly tragic lovebirds.
> 
> Add as much (constructive) criticism as you like! "Criticism" may range from personal feels overload to comments on grammatical and narrative structure to terrible choice of words (no native speaker, me). I hope you all enjoy what hopefully is going to become a much larger collection of ideas I have about these two. More coming very soon! I can't stop writing! Argh!


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